The Ark's Secret Logfiles
by luinrina
Summary: A collection of one-shots featuring all our favorite alien robots, and then some. Detailed story descriptions will be on top of every chapter.
1. Mission Accomplished?

**Author's Note:** I decided that instead of publishing all my various Transformer one-shots as individual stories, I make a collection. These short stories can be of any universe, feature any character, be set on Earth or on Cybertron… you get the gist.

I'm also open to suggestions. Do you want to see a certain character or scenario? I'll see if I can get my muse to write it for you. But I won't make any promises. I'm still quite new to the Transformer fandom and therefore not yet familiar with all the different continuities out there.

**General Disclaimer**: I wished I owned the Transformers. (A sleek ride like Bumblebee would be especially great. xD) Sadly, I don't have that much luck. I therefore only borrowed the mentioned characters and promise to return them to their respective owners afterward. However, some might not be too willing to leave… xD

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><p><strong>Title:<strong> Mission Accomplished?

**Summary**: Mission directive: obtain. Method: whatever is acceptable. Warnings: don't be disappointed if it didn't work out.

**Characters:** Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Prowl, Ratchet; Colonel William Lennox

**Universe:** life-action movies

**Point in Time:** set some time after _Dark of the Moon_

**Genre:** Humor

**Rating:** PG, K+

**Warnings:** some swearing

**Notes**: This story was inspired by my sister telling me about her personal experience when trying to obtain the toys of Bumblebee and Ironhide.

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><p>The mission had been a complete success – if one ignored the tiny little fact that half the city got destroyed. Despite what Prowl had said over the comm when they reported in, it hadn't been their fault. The Decepticons had engaged them first. If it hadn't been for them, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe might never have needed to intervene and the city would still be standing like before the battle.<p>

Shoving the thought aside, Sideswipe raced alongside his brother down the interstate. They were on their way back to the base for a more detailed debriefing. They were still approximately fifty miles out when Sunstreaker suddenly left the interstate to one of the resting places.

_What's up?_ Sideswipe asked over their twin bond while promptly correcting his course and following the golden Corvette off the highway.

_Just needing to stretch my legs_, Sunstreaker replied. _I also think I caught something organic in my ventilation system. Again. It's bugging me._

Sideswipe grew a little wary. Certainly, the resting place was surrounded by lots of trees which looked dense enough to provide plenty of cover for them to transform to their base modes, but two Corvettes vanishing in the bush when there was no visible way inside would certainly raise suspicion with the humans in the resting place. Usually, Sideswipe wouldn't give it a damn what these puny organics said or thought. Getting out of his alt-mode for a change would be wonderful, but after the city's destruction during their last mission and Prowl's fury over the comm, he didn't want to make Prime's second-in-command any angrier than he already was. Therefore, he shared his concerns with his brother in the hope to convince him to stay put.

Sunstreaker didn't reply for some time, while parking in one of the far corners of the resting place and activating his hologram as soon as he killed the engine. A young man with blond hair got out and slowly walked around the Corvette once, giving it a thorough look-over. Once the circle was complete, the blond man frowned, regarding the yellow Corvette's bumper suspiciously with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

The identical though silver Corvette had parked right next to the golden car. There was no one getting out of it. Sideswipe kept a close tap on Sunstreaker through his scanners. _Did you find whatever bugs you?_

_No. In this form, it's impossible. I just can't reach it._

_Well, leave it to the Hatchet then. He'll make sure you're bug-free again in no time._

The blonde's face grimaced. _Don't remind me. I'm not really keen on seeing the Hatchet. Remember the last prank we played on him? He still hasn't forgiven us._

The silver Corvette shuddered visibly, the engine giving a whining sound, like it was about to die by being strangled. _I nearly all forgot about it. I still bear the scars from that encounter._

Grunting in agreement, Sunstreaker's hologram wandered around the car again, deep in thought. He was pulled out of it, however, when the voices of three little kids reached his audios.

"My lord! You cannot engage him alone. Wait!"

"KADABAMM! Take that. I will never give up until you're all dead."

"BOOM! That will teach you to encounter mighty Megatron! Hahaha!"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's attentions were caught immediately when they heard the name of their archenemy. They quickly scanned the area for the presence of Decepticons, but they were the only Cybertronians within a ten-mile-radius. So they focused on the kids running around the resting place and engaging in battle. A close-up visual then showed the brothers that the kids were only playing with what looked like toys – of Starscream, Megatron and Ironhide.

Sunstreaker's holoform's head whipped around to Sideswipe who had finally activated his own hologram. Together, the two made their way over to the kids.

"Hey, squishies," the blonde greeted them and the kids looked up, surprised at being addressed like that. "Where did you get these?" He pointed to the figures in their hands.

The oldest boy pointed to the building behind them. "From in there. Mom and Dad bought us the King Box, and the toys were a surprise."

Determined to see these toys from more up close, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker went into the fast food restaurant.

_I suppose we'll have to get us such a King Box too,_ Sideswipe mused over the twin bond. _But I'm not in the mood for the greasy organic stuff…_

Sunstreaker nodded absent-mindedly, not really listening to his brother. He was scanning the display for this 'King Box.' Eventually, he laid eyes on it.

"Hello and welcome to Burger King," a young brunette greeted when the queue in front of them cleared and it was their turn to order. "How can I help you?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared an apprehensive glance, then Sunstreaker ordered, "We take the King Box."

"Of course," the brunette answered immediately. "Do you want to share or do you each want your own?"

Blinking in surprise that she even needed to ask, they both responded in unison after a moment, "Each our own."

"Do you want to take the food or eat here?"

"We take it."

"All right. Any wishes as for the menu?"

Unprepared what a King Box entailed, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe glanced around. Luckily for them, a father with son ordered the very same King Box right then a few counters down. Enhancing their audios to maximum power to listen to what the man was saying, they proceeded to order exactly the same. It wasn't the food they wanted the King Box for, after all.

And finally, the brunette asked the most important question: "Any wishes as for which toy you would like?"

"I want Sunstreaker," Sunstreaker said, while at the same time Sideswipe blurted out, "Sideswipe of course."

The brunette was caught in surprise at the responses. She blinked a few times, her eyes otherwise wide open, and gaped at them, her mouth opening and closing without a sound coming out of it. They had seen such an expression before: with fish. "Um… I'm not quite sure…" she began, hesitantly.

The brothers shared another look. _What do we do now?_ Sideswipe asked.

Sunstreaker was about to shrug when he caught the boy on the other counter say, "I want the blue one please," and the servant react immediately, producing the demanded toy. Realization hit immediately: Colors, those were the key!

"I take the yellow one," Sunstreaker said, turning back to the brunette.

Following his brother's example, Sideswipe said, "And I take the silver one."

The brunette smiled. "Of course. Two King Boxes coming up in a moment. Please wait just a second." She turned around and went to put together their orders before quickly coming back. Pushing some buttons on her cashier display, she then gave them the price.

Naturally, they had no money on them, but Sunstreaker quickly made some hologram bills and coins. They would vanish as soon as the Corvettes were out of range, but no one would detect the cheat before they were long gone.

With their King Boxes cradled against their chests protectively, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe made their way back to the cars. The bug in Sunstreaker's ventilation system was long since erased from his processor. The brothers' minds were intent only on their precious toys. But they didn't want to play with them in a resting place. No – they needed them sound and safe in their shared quarter. So they quickly started their engines and drove back onto the highway to get back to the base as quickly as possible. They reached their goal in less than half an hour, with many speed signs ignored. Luckily, they hadn't drawn attention of the local police force.

The attention of one another, particular police cruiser was bad enough.

"Where the slag have you been?" Prowl demanded as soon as they were inside the main hangar and transformed into their bipedal forms. He stood right in front of them, his stance threatening. Every 'bot was well advised to stay on the enforcer's good side.

"We've… we had to take a break," Sunstreaker lied. "I got a bug in my system. I needed to get rid of it."

Raising an optic ridge, Prowl asked, "What sort of bug? Did you tinker with your calibration again?"

Looking affronted, Sunstreaker replied, "I'm not stupid. It was an organic bug, you know, these little beetle thingies…" He trailed off when he caught Prowl's icy glare.

"The both of you, report to the med bay immediately. Once Ratchet clears you, I want your thoroughly detailed reports on that mission within a joor. Do not try to weasel out of it or you'll be grounded for a vorn to the brig – and I mean it."

"Yes, sir," the brothers said grudgingly when the second-in-command turned around and walked back to his office.

The encounter with Ratchet was even less pleasant than anticipated. Like Sideswipe had guessed, the CMO was still very much put out with them for their latest prank. Since Sideswipe didn't need any medical checks, he had hoped to escape the Hatchet's clutches, but Ratchet only needed to threaten him once with welding his aft to the berth if he tried sneaking out while he looked into the organic bug in Sunstreaker's ventilation system. Not wanting to endanger their playtime with their counterpart toys, he quietly endured the waiting and subsequent check-through.

But once they were cleared, the brothers hurried to finish their reports and hand them in to Prowl.

And _finally_, they found themselves in their quarters. Alone. Taking out the King Boxes, they eagerly went to inspecting the content. The food was long since squished to unrecognizable chunks, but the toys were still in one piece and appeared unharmed.

Only they weren't what Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had ordered.

…

"Prowl, I think the twins are up to something. When they were in the med bay, they were unusually quiet and withdrawn. Neither tried joking or distracting me – if you don't count the episode where Sideswipe tried sneaking out on me. It was… a pleasant change, but it has me worried," Ratchet reported to the second-in-command later that day over their energon rations.

The enforcer nodded pensively. "I know what you mean, Ratchet. Normally, they would do anything to get away from their duties like writing the reports. But today they handed them in long before their deadline was over. I have never before seen them in such a state."

"Well, my medical scans showed nothing unusual with their processors or sparks. Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with their health status."

Mulling that over, Prowl eventually suggested, "Maybe we should survey them. Didn't the humans install surveillance cameras into each of our quarters that can be activated any time?"

…

"What the slag?" Sideswipe began, incredulously staring at the toy he held in his hands.

Sunstreaker made a noise that sounded like he had been shot and was now seriously injured. "You at least got something… decent."

Glaring at his brother, Sideswipe snapped, "Decent? I got fragging _Shockwave_! How is that _decent_?"

Holding up his own toy, Sunstreaker replied, "Better than the Hatchet. Look at that! Bad enough he's a pain in the aft every orn in reality. Now I have him as a toy in our quarters too." He shuddered at the thought, his engine revving once.

Sideswipe vented a sigh and put his toy away, then proceeded to look up the toys on the Internet. After a moment, he sighed again. "You know, they never made toys of us," he told Sunstreaker. "They only got Prime, 'Bee, Ironhide and the Hatchet. How unfair is that?"

"No toys of us?" Sunstreaker demanded, looking it up himself. Apparently, his brother was right. "But they made some of Megatron, Starscream and Shockwave?" he asked disdainfully, his engine revving again in anger.

The brothers shared a long look before their shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Fragging humans," Sunstreaker grumbled while he flicked the Ratchet-toy under his recharge berth.

…

Watching the live feed of the twins' quarters' surveillance camera in the communications center with Colonel Lennox (who fought very hard to hold back his sniggers), Ratchet and Prowl mentally face-palmed at the sight on the screen. Two of the Autobots' best melee warriors were freaking out because of human children toys? That was something one doesn't get to see every orn, so all three silently vowed to themselves to never ever forget about it.

It proved useful too.

"We have this feed to blackmail them with from now on to the Pit and back," Prowl said, an uncharacteristic smirk gracing his usually unreadable faceplates. "You get that one recorded, don't you?" he asked Colonel Lennox.

The human soldier grinned. "Every second of it."


	2. Prepare to 'Bee Inspected

**Author's Note: **This was originally published as an individual story. However, since I'm going to publish one-shots in form of a collection from now on, "Prepare to 'Bee Inspected" moved over here.

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><p><strong>Title:<strong> Prepare to 'Bee Inspected

**Summary**: Bumblebee and Sam have an encounter of the different kind – one that no one really likes but has to face every once in a while…

**Characters:** Bumblebee; Sam Witwicky

**Universe:** life-action movies

**Point in Time:** set some time after _Dark of the Moon_

**Genre:** Humor

**Rating:** G, K

**Warnings:** none

**Notes**: Just a little one-shot that came to my mind when I overheard my grandfather and brother-in-law talking about car inspections.

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><p>It's common knowledge that the Germans are strict about rules and their enforcement, especially when the safety of the population was concerned. However, when Sam and I went to the central-European country for ambassadorial work, none of us expected to be checked that the rules are followed.<p>

It happened on a Tuesday morning. Sam and I had more or less just arrived on the military airport of the Ramstein Air Base on Monday. It had been late at night already on touch-down; due to a tropical storm holding Diego Garcia in its grasp, our departure from the naval base had to be rescheduled, so we could only leave about six hours later than planned. Of course we had recharged on route, but Sam's bio-rhythm had gone havoc because of the time differences and our already tight schedule having tightened even more when we received note that three more meetings with politicians had been arranged. Therefore, upon arrival at Ramstein, Sam was still fast asleep and no one wanted to wake him just yet.

But as soon as he woke up at about four in the morning, we were on our way toward the capital of Germany, Berlin. We would, among others, meet with the Minister for Foreign Affairs as well as the Secretary of Defense (or whatever the official title translated from German) before meeting with the chancellor.

While waiting for Sam to wake up I had done some research and found out that the drive from Ramstein to Berlin would take about six hours on a good day, depending on the traffic. I of course intended to have Sam be in Berlin earlier than needed to give him time for a breather, but I quickly found out that the international image of Germans loving their cars and using them often was a hundred percent reality. It therefore didn't really come as a surprise that at five-hundred hours we were stuck in our first German traffic jam.

I tried my very best to find a route around it, but GPS failed me. It wasn't so much that it didn't work for me, but rather that everyone local knew about the alternatives and used them rather than be stuck in the traffic jam – with the result that the reroutes were packed with cars as well.

Sam was still relatively relaxed. We had lots of time left and he knew I would get us to our goal in time – I always did – but I grew slowly worried when zipping through the various radio channels and listening to the news reporting traffic jams of averagely five miles length all around the area. I hoped that the traffic jam would vanish quickly.

Today didn't seem to be my lucky day because instead of the traffic jam vanishing, it instead grew even thicker – and longer. A _lot_ longer. At seven-hundred hours we were still stuck, not having made more than twenty miles in the last two hours.

Sam drumming his fingers on the steering wheel was the first indication of him growing nervous. The second was the rising level of stress hormones. "This doesn't seem good," he mumbled to himself, sounding anxious. I had to agree with him.

We continued to crawl forward in silence for about five minutes before Sam sighed heavily. "Can't you do something, 'Bee? I'll be otherwise too late for the meeting with the minister."

Zipping through quotes, I played back, "I'll try…" I didn't have the slightest idea what to do though. I could hardly transform and walk around it, and the traffic rules explicitly state that you mustn't drive on the breakdown lane. That one was for emergencies only. But if our pressing schedule wasn't an emergency, I had no idea what was.

Carefully easing myself through the cars whenever there was space, I eventually managed to free myself of the surrounding inanimate vehicles and gave speed. We quickly drove past the traffic jam and arrived at the origin: an accident, blocking two of three lanes. The police was busy directing the cars by while the ambulance took care of the injured people.

I used a truck as cover to get past the police unnoticed, and luck seemed to have returned for after the accident the road was all clear. I gave even more speed and quickly brought us out of Frankfurt's larger area.

Several hours later, just after driving past Jena, there was a police control signing for us to pull over. That Sam had noticed them too I realized when he mumbled, "Oh, no, please, not now," followed by a deep sigh.

"Guten Tag," the man said. "Ihre Papiere bitte."

Sam didn't know German – at least not much – so he replied, "Eh, um, hi. Do you speak English?"

The police man nodded. "Yes." His next words I thought were the translation of what he said earlier in his mother tongue. "May I see your papers please, sir?"

"Sure." Sam grabbed his driver's license (which he didn't need any more since I was the one driving) and the papers (which were faked because I didn't need papers – but the humans insisted on all of us having papers for such cases).

The police man looked them through quickly but efficiently. "Your license indicates you're American?"

"Yeah, from the southwest," Sam replied politely. My sensors, however, told me how stressed he really was; it wasn't every day that an Autobot got pulled over by the police. But Sam hid it well from the officer.

"I see…" was the reply. The papers and license were handed back. "Well, young man, you drove too fast. I have to give you a ticket."

Sam blinked in astonishment. "I thought there were no speed limits on the highway."

"People might think, but the speed limit is 130 kilometers per hour."

Sam sighed. "All right, give me the ticket. But can you make it quick please? I have an appointment in Berlin and need to be there on time."

The police man frowned. "I hope you go without driving too fast again." There was an unspoken warning in his tone.

Sam patted the steering wheel nervously. "I'll drive carefully." Which was a very ambassadorial answer for him.

The police man seemed to realize that the moment Sam spoke. So he held his hands out again. "May I see your papers again please?" Unable to refuse, Sam complied. And this time, the officer took his time. Eventually, his frown deepened and he glared at Sam. "Are those the real papers?"

"Of course," Sam hastened to reassure but my sensors recorded the havoc-wreaking hormones in his body.

The police man waved them in Sam's face. "Then why is there no note about the TÜV?" Sam was confused because he apparently had no idea what the police officer was talking about; it clearly showed on his face. So the man added in explanation, "When's the car been checked the last time?"

From Sam's expression I knew the same thought that ran through my processors was on his mind; _just yesterday, by Ratchet. And he declared me fully operational._ But of course, Sam couldn't say that to the officer. "Uh…"

"Young man, I'm afraid a ticket won't do it. I'll have to confiscate the car."

That, however, had the wrong effect on Sam. "No," he firmly said, his mind set. "You can't confiscate it."

The police officer crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Says who?"

Believing it was now or never, I answered before Sam could speak. "Says I." Quickly zipping through the stations for another quote, I played through the radio, "Thoroughly checked and ready to go." And for good measure, I added a recording of Prime. "Let's roll out!"

The officer stared at the radio, gaping like a fish. "What—?" he stammered, unable to articulate properly.

Sam sighed. "Great, 'Bee, now you've done it," he admonished, hitting the steering wheel once for good measure. To the man he then said, "That's Bumblebee, one of the Autobots. You surely have heard of them?" Sam didn't wait for the officer's nod or shake of the head, continuing, "Officer, see, as ambassador to the Autobots I _really_ need to be in Berlin on time. It's a really important meeting I have to attend and I can't afford to lose any more time than I have already. So if you could please let Bumblebee and me continue on our way? I can't promise to stay under the speed limit, but we'll be careful and not endanger the other traffic participants."

Unable to deny Sam the wish after he spoke with such determination – but looking like he very much wanted to do so – the officer nodded. "All right, go on, and stay safe." Then he handed back the papers.

When we were a couple of miles away from the police officer, Sam said, "'Bee, remind me to ask NEST to provide the – how did he call it – 'TÜV' note in the fake papers the next time we come to Germany."

"Ay ay, captain!" I quoted through the radio while speeding down the motorway toward Berlin.


	3. Cold Sparks

**Title:** Cold Sparks

**Summary**: Sideswipe's thoughts when he and four other Autobots were held prisoner by the Decepticons.

**Characters:** Sideswipe, Ratchet, Que, Bumblebee; Soundwave, Barricade, other Decepticons; Dylan Gould

**Universe:** life-action movies

**Point in Time:** 2011, during the battle of Chicago

**Genre:** Angst

**Rating:** PG-13, T

**Warnings:** violence, character death

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><p>They are too soft. Decepticons never just capture. They slaughter. So why are we only prisoners now, not yet dead? Has the traitor Sentinel brought his alleged values with him and turned the 'cons into something soft-sparked? How pathetic. Killing Ironhide without a second thought, but leaving us alive? Could he really be that stupid? Yes, Ironhide has been our weapons specialist, a brute force and the fear of every 'con, dead <em>and<em> alive. To take him out of the equation has been a smooth move, I have to admit. But Sentinel should know we can't be detained forever. Earlier than later we _will_ break free and fight back, and the 'cons have taken only five of us prisoner. Optimus and the Wreckers are still on free foot and will come if not for our rescue, then for the one of humanity. If Sentinel were half as good a Prime as Optimus, he would know that. For his own good: Sentinel should kill us all.

At least someone is fighting the 'cons right now. That it isn't me but that grouchy medic pains me. I _have_ struggled against my guard, only without a result. That 'con knows how to hold a prisoner; I have to give that to him. I scan for the spark signature absent-mindedly, my processor trying to figure out who it is that holds me – if only so I can take revenge on him personally as soon as we are free again. But I end that stray thought immediately. Whoever holds me will be dead as soon as I get free anyway. Besides, I've never been much of a thinker. I love the action, the fierceness of battle and the feeling of superiority that holding another bot's spark's existence in my servos before crushing it brings to my spark. Leave the thinking to someone much better equipped to do so, like Prowl. That analytical processor of his would probably already have come up with a thousand ill-going scenarios. Well, I've always been a more optimistic kind of bot myself. I absent-mindedly wonder if Prowl will ever find his way to Earth, and in what condition the planet will be then.

Ratchet is still struggling and fighting our capturers. He either is more naïve than I thought or just as feared for his strong temper by the 'cons as has been Ironhide, believing reputation will save him from being terminated immediately. Whatever the reason, they don't just pull out the plasma cannons and annihilate him. Lucky for him I guess. Can't say so much about my luck in that regard. A grouchy medic… is a grouchy medic. He'll make my life worthy a trip to the Pit and back as soon as he gets the next chance. That's how Ratchet and I function. And it's good the way it is – even though I could do less without those wrenches hitting me on my helmet every time I get too close to that medic.

"Prisoners? You're keeping prisoners?"

I have nearly forgotten about that worm Gould. The Decepticons' pet. Another pathetic excuse of an existence. He even has the audacity to talk to Soundwave.

"Yes," comes the reply from Megatron's communication officer. That Soundwave even answers him is prove enough of how deep the 'cons have sunk.

"You need to teach them about respect. This was all business, but now it's personal, do you understand me?" At least someone here has the necessary coldness in his spark— heart, whatever, knowing what must be done and willing to see it through. I'd never thought I'd feel respect for a human not on our side.

Cold laughter is the answer; it makes my spark coil in shivers. Soundwave and laughing? When has Cybertron come to an end? "I understand," he says. "No prisoners, only trophies."

The five of us realize at the same time what that statement means for us. But Que is the one voicing our thoughts:

"'Bee, I think they're going to… kill us."

And as soft as they have been before, they turn to action the faster now.

The 'con holding Que says, "You, your time is up."

"Wait, wait, wait! We surrendered! We're your prisoners," Que argues, but he's pulled up and shoved around like the scrapheap he's going to become in a moment.

I haven't known the inventor too well, but I've never seen a more good-natured bot than him. My spark reaches out for him, and for an astrosecond it feels like it's joined by my other half. But the fleeting impression is gone the next instant. Sunstreaker is light years away. Even if he were close to us, he'd never make it in time to save Que.

I want to turn my attention away, don't want to watch, but I can't. My optics are fixed on the scene before me. It makes my tanks churn. I've seen many comrades in arms being slaughtered, but it's never been during an execution like right now. Everyone I've seen dying died in combat, a true warrior's death. Being executed is like never having fought for your freedom.

Que we're about to lose, without hope of rescue. His gentle spark still hasn't given up hope, though. "Can't we talk this out?" he tries again. "We're all a bunch of good chaps! I mean you no—" But whatever else he wants to say is cut off short when the 'con fires his cannon – right through Que's chest. Unbelievingly, his spark chamber is not hit dead-center, but the Decepticons don't wait for Que to recover. They shoot again, and don't miss this time.

Que's life signal vanishes from my sensors.

Next to me, Ratchet bows his head in obvious grief. Has he known Que better than I?

Now in the swing of things, the 'cons seem intent on making short process with us. Barricade marches straight on to Bumblebee. The scout must sense he's about to die, but even now Bumblebee is unable to be impolite; his thoughts still linger with the just extinguished Que. 'Bee's radio searches for a fitting quote and comes up with "Goodbye, my old friend." My spark warms slightly despite the cruelty of the situation.

"You're mine now," Barricade then announces unnecessarily and begins pushing 'Bee around like Que has been shoved, right toward where Soundwave waits with his cannon to execute the final blow. 'Bee struggles and manages to free himself long enough to put a servo onto Que's empty frame in commemoration, but Barricade pulls 'Bee up again. "Turn around."

A small, nearly silent commotion nearby catches my attention. I scan the area and find Sam and that girl of his hiding in a wrecked car. _They're watching this?_ I wonder briefly before my spark drops into stasis-cold: _Do the Decepticons know?_ Inconspicuously glancing around, I realize that – thank Primus – they don't, but I keep my sensors trained on them. Sam and that girl of his will be killed when discovered. Can't let that happen. Even if we die today, at least the humans deserve the chance to survive. Though, without sensors like ours they'd never notice when their cover is blown. They will need me to be their optics and to warn them to run.

It never comes that far, thank Primus. Before Soundwave can execute Bumblebee, one of the battle ships falls down all around us, distracting the 'cons.

_Distraction is all we needed_, I think with grim satisfaction and leap into action, eagerly piercing the spark chamber of the 'con that has held me prisoner.


	4. Much Ado About Fluffy

**Title:** Much Ado About Fluffy

**Summary**: Annabelle is trying her hands at being a hairdresser – with unexpected results.

**Characters:** Ratchet, Blaster (mentioned), Steeljaw (mentioned); Soundwave (mentioned); William Lennox, Sarah Lennox, Annabelle Lennox

**Universe:** life-action movies, Botosphere fanon

**Point in Time:** 2011

**Genre:** Family, Friendship, Humor

**Rating:** G, K

**Warnings:** cuteness alert ;p

**Notes**: This one-shot was inspired by Eowyn77's cat Fluffy. For pictures (of the cat, not Eowyn ;) ), please check out the Botosphere's yahoo group. Thank you so much for letting me write this, Eowyn!

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><p>It was a beautiful morning in late August. Sarah Lennox sat at the kitchen table, a magazine in front of her. After having cleaned away the breakfast dishes and starting laundry, she treated herself with a break before the household demanded her attention again. She was currently engrossed in a report about some cultural events when there suddenly came a squeal out of the living room. Sarah perked up immediately, looking worriedly in the direction of the squeal's origin.<p>

A few seconds later, little feet came running into the kitchen. "Mommy!" her five-year-old daughter shouted, frantically waving something. "Look!" The little girl came to a stop in front of her, holding out her favorite doll.

Sarah stared at it in confusion. Was something wrong with the doll? What was she supposed to do?

Her daughter answered her question before she could pose it. "Doesn't she look nice? I cut the hair myself." The girl's tone was interlaced with pride, and she beamed up at her.

Sarah looked back at the doll, taking it when Annabelle held it out demonstratively. Only then she registered the different haircut. As far as she remembered, the doll had long hair, but it was now worn short. The edges where the hair had been cut were rough and partly split, telling Sarah that the cut hadn't been done by someone who knew how to handle scissors properly.

She looked back at her still proudly beaming daughter. "You cut Sally's hair?" she asked, not sure whether she should compliment or scold Annabelle. And where had she found scissors?

The girl excitedly nodded her head. "She looks nice, doesn't she?"

"Well…" Sarah began hesitantly. Annabelle's face fell a little so she quickly said, "She now has something… special."

The beam was immediately back in place. "I want to do that often."

"Cut dolls' hair?"

Annabelle giggled. "Not on dolls. Every day. For forever."

"Like a hairdresser?"

"Yeah, like them."

"Um… wow. Nice." Sarah was at a loss what to say, trying to imagine Annabelle working in a hairdresser's shop.

However, Annabelle wasn't listening anymore. Throughout their little dialogue, she had climbed onto a chair and was currently looking at the magazine – or rather, some of the pictures. "Mommy, why does this dog look so funny?" she asked, pointing to a picture of a poodle wearing a frilly pink dress and correspondingly colored bows on ears and tail.

"Um…" Sarah flew over the article. "It participated in a beauty contest," she eventually said. "The owner dressed her dog up for it to look pretty."

Annabelle frowned. "What's a 'beauty contest'?"

"Owners of dogs and cats – and sometimes other animals too – take their pets to such a contest to find out which of the pets is the prettiest," Sarah tried to explain. "They dress them up like the poodle in the photo."

The frown remained in place, though Annabelle didn't look like she didn't understand what Sarah was telling her. She rather seemed pensive. True enough, her little girl's blue eyes slowly moved up to her. "Can anyone go there?"

"I think so."

A special light Sarah couldn't pin down appeared in Annabelle's eyes. "Could Fluffy go too?" she asked excitedly.

Wondering where her daughter's questions would lead, she hesitantly replied, "Probably…"

Annabelle's expression lit up like the lights on last year's Christmas tree. She quickly climbed off the chair again and ran back into the living room without another word. Sarah looked after her with raised eyebrows, stunned speechless. She opened her mouth to holler at Annabelle where she was going, but in the end remained silent. _Kids_, she thought with wry amusement, shaking her head before returning to her reading.

An hour later, there was another squeal coming from the living room, followed by a hiss and furious "_Meow_!" Seconds afterward, the family cat Fluffy rushed into the kitchen and quickly vanished through the cat flap in the door leading onto the backyard's porch. It rattled frantically. Nonetheless, it had been enough time for Sarah to get a good look at the feline. It had lost the majority of its fur; instead of being long-haired like usual, Fluffy now sported a body with _very_ short, badly cut hair. The exceptions were some knee-high fuzzy 'boots', a tuft on its tail and what appeared to be a mane. Sarah sat shocked, staring at the cat flap. Was it just her or did her cat now look like a miniature lion?

Another moment later, little feet followed Fluffy's wake and Annabelle came running into the kitchen. "Mommy!" she shouted, interrupting Sarah's train of thought. "Did you see Fluffy? I haven't finished yet."

Sarah was about to ask what else she wanted to do to the poor cat when she noticed the scissors Annabelle played with rather carelessly. "Oh my God! Annabelle, give me the scissors," she demanded and jumped off her chair.

The girl waved them around and asked, "Why?" but nonetheless handed them over.

Taking the scissors, Sarah relaxed now that her daughter was out of harm's way. "Scissors aren't toys, Annabelle," she said, trying to give her voice a stern ring while remaining gentle with the five-year old. "You mustn't play around with them."

Annabelle took the rebuke in stride. However, her expression turned sad. "Don't you like how Fluffy now looks?" she asked, the tone suggesting she was close to tears.

Sarah sighed and sat back down on her chair. Instead of answering her daughter's question though, she posed one of her own. "Why did you give her a new style anyway?" Because that was bugging Sarah the most right now – after the worry her girl might get hurt from playing around with scissors.

The sad expression lifted a little. "Daddy always complains about all those cat hair on his uniform," Annabelle explained in all her childlike seriousness. "He said one of his friends at work is aggerlic."

"Allergic," Sarah corrected absent-mindedly while her thoughts immediately wandered off to James Quinn. Will didn't work that close with him but apparently still close enough that Fluffy's hair was a bother to the mechanic. Then Sarah realized her daughter's intentions and smiled proudly down at Annabelle; she was only five years old but already thought of the well-being of others.

There was one thing that didn't quite add up though. "And how exactly did you talk Fluffy into holding still for you?" she therefore asked, giving the girl's arms and hands a thorough look over. To her astonishment, they were unharmed.

Annabelle sat through her mother's inspection patiently. Her lips formed a grin, however. "She was sleeping on the couch. But she woke up just when I was about to style her bangs."

Sarah stared at Annabelle for a good solid moment, trying to imagine Fluffy with _bangs_, before laughter started bubbling up. Fighting it back, she acted a stern expression. "A cat is not a toy, darling. You cannot play with it like you play with your dolls. What's done is done, but that's it with styling the kitty. No more experimenting on Fluffy, understood?"

"But, Mommy," Annabelle whined in protest, "she's not pretty enough yet for the beauty contest."

Sarah held up a hand, silencing her daughter. "We're not taking Fluffy to a beauty contest, Annabelle," she said, her tone resolute. Then she ran a hand up her face and through her hair, muttering, "Instead of a cat we now have a little lion in our house…" She sighed, then said to her daughter, "I doubt Fluffy appreciates her new style, so let her be from now on."

The girl sighed dramatically. "O-kay," she allowed slowly, sullenly.

Nodding satisfied, Sarah shooed her out of the kitchen. "Now go play with your _dolls_, honey."

…

**One week later…**

Sarah was outside, doing some gardening on her roses, when she heard a car pull up in the driveway. She glanced up, squinting against the sun. When the vehicle came closer, she recognized it as Ratchet's hummer. And sure enough, as soon as it stopped, the doctor's holoform got out. To her surprise, Will climbed out of the passenger seat.

She quickly walked up to them and asked, "What's up?"

Ron Hatchett pointed toward her husband. "Will got sick so I brought him home. He has caught the flu and should rest."

Will rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like an epidemic. It was just one sneeze, Ratchet."

The doctor hefted his striking blue eyes on the soldier. "It's the flu," he replied in his typical no-nonsense manner. "And that means you need rest. You are overworked anyway." His dismissive tone forbade any more arguing on the topic.

Sarah had to watch herself to not start giggling madly. Leave it to an extraterrestrial being to show her husband his limits.

Will sighed and theatrically scuffled toward the house, looking like someone on their way to their executioner. Ron Hatchett followed him, probably making sure he really reached his bed. Sarah's giggling turned to laughter and threatened to bubble out. After a moment, she couldn't hold it back anymore and finally succumbed to it. That earned her a curious but smirking glance from Ron Hatchett before he vanished inside the house.

Once she had calmed down again, she went back to treating her roses. After a couple of minutes, Ron Hatchett joined her; he was alone. "Will is in bed as he should be," he reported.

Sarah snorted. "Acknowledged," she said and grinned at the doctor who rolled his eyes.

"Why do you humans always have to be so slagging stubborn?" he grumbled. "Especially Will. It makes treating you so much harder than it would otherwise be."

She shrugged. "That's how it is, Ratchet. Just accept it and go on. You won't change us."

He sighed but otherwise remained silent. Instead he watched her work. "Do you need a hand?" he asked after a moment.

She smiled up at him and handed over a shovel. "The weed is slowly taking over so I'm trying to get rid of it. It grows faster than I can take it out though." He nodded, showing he understood, before crouching down and attacking the devious weed.

They had worked in company for a while when Fluffy decided to join them. She tiptoed around them for a moment, eyeing Ron Hatchett suspiciously, before finally rubbing her side against Sarah's legs. She meowed to gather her attention and Sarah instantly looked down. "Are you hungry, kitty? Shall we get you something?" The response was another, this time longish meow. Sarah stroked over Fluffy's slowly regrowing fur, then stood and walked toward the house.

After having filled the feline's nap, she turned around and nearly collided with Ron Hatchett. "Sorry," he mumbled before she could say something, his eyes distractedly hefted on the cat.

Sarah's eyes flitted from her pet to the doctor and back several times before she asked, "What's wrong?"

He nodded toward the feline. "She looks rather… odd. I remember her having longer fur."

She laughed lowly. "Annabelle has recently decided to become a hair stylist and she used Fluffy for practice."

Ron Hatchett's eyes widened. "She cut the cat's fur?" he asked, sounding incredulous.

"Uh-huh. I was as surprised as you, to put it mildly."

The doctor continued staring at the cat until it – probably able to feel his stare – turned toward them, stared back and hissed at him. He blinked in surprise and looked at Sarah in bewilderment while the feline, obviously satisfied the staring had stopped, continued its meal. Sarah giggled in amusement at seeing Ron Hatchett's expression. She took his arm and gently pulled him back outside because he was obviously frozen on the spot after Fluffy's protest.

They went back to weeding when the doctor blurted out, "How could Spitlet have known about Steeljaw?" He turned toward Sarah who looked up in confusion. "She's not suspecting anything. Or is she?" He sounded slightly panicky.

Sarah frowned. "What do you mean? What's Annabelle suspecting? That you're not human?" He nodded and her frown deepened even more. "From styling Fluffy into a mini-lion?" It made no sense to her, at all.

His shock finally fell away and he started laughing heartily. "Oh Primus, that's priceless," he gasped and even had to wipe away a tear. Making himself comfortable on the ground, he patted on it, asking Sarah to sit down as well. Once she faced him, sitting cross-legged, he explained, "You know about Soundwave, and that he has several symbiotes, right?" When she nodded, he continued, "One of our communications specialists designated Blaster has some too. One of them is called Steeljaw. His appearance is similar to a lion's." He briefly glanced over his shoulder. Upon turning his gaze back on Sarah, his eyes had grown distant. His holoform flickered for a heartbeat before steadying itself again. When he refocused on her, he pulled out a photo from his trousers' pocket. "That's him," he said in explanation. "When I saw Fluffy's new style, I for a moment thought Steeljaw had arrived on Earth. It's funny Spitlet subconsciously created a spitting image of the little bot." He chuckled.

Sarah joined in. "I can see where you're coming from." She paused, pensive. "Maybe we should rename the cat and call her Steeljaw from now on," she added, joking.

Ron Hatchett snorted. "I doubt she'd like that. She seems to be quite a headstrong femme."

At that Sarah burst out laughing. "In case you haven't read about it yet, Ratchet: _all_ cats are strongly willed. They're independent creatures and will never obey others like dogs listen to humans."

"Ah. In that case, Steeljaw will get along with them splendidly. Maybe he should take the alt-mode of a feline when he arrives." He turned wistful, a little sad even.

Sarah's heart went out for them. They had lost so much. _Hopefully not Blaster and Steeljaw too_, she thought. Trying to lift Ron Hatchett's mood again, she curiously asked, "I take it he's a little headstrong too?"

He snorted. "Idiosyncratic really. Even Blaster has sometimes trouble getting him to obey." Sarah grinned and he looked at her. "You should talk Spitlet out of styling pets before Blaster arrives. Steeljaw _will_ fight back if he doesn't want his appearance changed."

Sarah broke out in laughter.

* * *

><p>Reviews are love. Thanks for reading! :)<p> 


	5. The Importance of Personal Agendas

**Title:** The Importance of Personal Agendas

**Summary**: Major Lennox has an idea of how to eliminate the threat the Decepticons pose. However, the Autobots' reaction is quite… unexpected.

**Characters:** Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, Jolt (mentioned); Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave (all only mentioned); William Lennox, Robert Epps.

**Universe:** life-action movies

**Point in Time:** 2009, after Return of the Fallen

**Genre:** General

**Rating:** PG, K+

**Warnings:** none

**Notes**: This story arose from a theory I suddenly had one evening while working on another story.

* * *

><p>Will lounged on the couch in the rec room, his feet propped onto the small table in front of him. He usually wouldn't accept anyone putting their feet up, but he was off duty and didn't care right now about impressions. Besides, he was alone.<p>

That changed when his long-time comrade and friend Master Tech Sergeant Robert Epps entered. An eyebrow rose quizzically. "What about the no-feet-on-tables-rule?" the dark-skinned man asked, sauntering over. He handed his superior officer a bottle of beer.

The answer was a shrug. "No one here to see it. And thanks, man." Will skillfully capped the bottle and took a sip, not bothering about getting a glass.

Epps sat down next to him, sighing blissfully when he stretched out his legs and relaxed into the comfortable furniture. "You never know who's watching. Jolt could have hacked the security system again."

Will snorted, remembering very well the incident they had had when the electric blue Autobot first arrived at the base. "After the fritz Ratchet had? I doubt that. He'll think twice before doing it again, even if he wanted to use it as a prank."

"True," Epps conceded.

Both men lapsed into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The TV was only running as background noise. Will had chosen the movie with the intention of watching it to relax, but quickly enough, his concentration had waned, making place for fatigue. He knew that he would fall asleep quickly if he were to go to bed right now, but he couldn't bring himself to get up; he was sitting very comfortably and was too lazy to move.

Epps laughed suddenly and Will's attention focused on his comrade. "What?" he asked.

The other nodded toward the TV. "Gotta love such dumbasses," he said. When Will continued looking confused, Epps explained, "The commander of the ship could have it so much easier if his first lieutenant wouldn't be so much focused on his own agenda. And the weirdest thing, the commander doesn't just get rid of the lieutenant." He snickered.

Will turned toward the TV, watching the next scenes with interest. "Because he needs him if he's indisposed to command the crew," he replied, remembering. He had seen the movie a couple of times already, but never thought too much about it. It was designed for entertainment only. However, today, some voice in the back of his mind told him the situation was familiar. He just couldn't place it.

Epps continued snickering over the next couple of minutes, and eventually, Will was tired enough to fall asleep sitting. _Time to hit the sack_, he thought and dragged himself up. "See you tomorrow," he said, slowly making his way over to the door. "'Night."

"Goodnight."

However, despite being extremely tired and worn out, Will didn't fall asleep immediately. He lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling. His mind was pondering over the movie he had watched, still trying to figure out where from it was familiar to him. But for the love of God, he couldn't remember. Eventually, his thoughts running in circles, he drifted off to sleep.

...

"Good morning, sir," Will was immediately greeted the next day when he entered the main hangar.

Nodding toward the saluting soldier, he said, "At ease, Peters." The soldier slightly relaxed, nonetheless remaining standing at attention. "Anything to report?" Will inquired.

"No, sir," the young man answered smartly. "Graveyard watch was literally dead."

Will nodded again. "So no 'con sightings," he concluded.

"No, sir."

"Thanks." He continued on toward his office while the soldier snapped to another salute.

A pile of reports and requests towered on his desk. Will grimaced, not really in the mood to tackle the paper work, but seeing that there was nothing more important to take care off right now, he had to work off the pile, whether he liked it or not. He plopped into his chair with a sigh.

Half an hour later, the pile had lost height considerably. Most of the work consisted of just signing off material requests, and seeing that the orders came from Ratchet who always filled out the forms with proper care for details, Will doubted he needed to revise them too thoroughly before approving them. That lightened his work immensely, and he was once again grateful for the Autobots' CMO being a stickler for accuracy.

His thoughts drifted over to the weapons specialist of the Autobots, Ironhide. Granted, the mech was more often than not grumpy, but if push came to shove, one could always count on him. He was extremely loyal – not only to the cause but to his friends as well. And Will had witnessed several times how reliable Ironhide was. Not only was he one of the heaviest hitters in a battle, he also took care of all matters related to weaponry and training.

"Prime is lucky to have such great officers," he mumbled to himself while signing off another request.

But the very next moment, he halted when a thought struck. For several moments, he stared at his desk without seeing it, then shot out of his chair and sprinted down the corridor toward the main room in the hangar.

Luck had it that Optimus, Ironhide and Ratchet were all present when Will arrived. They all looked up in surprise at his sudden appearance. "Major Lennox, did something happen?" Optimus asked, clearly concerned.

Will shook his head and took a deep breath. "Thanks, I'm fine, don't worry," he quickly reassured them. "I just had an epiphany and needed to share it with you, that's why I ran." All three bots perked up at that, so Will said, "From what we learned so far, despite groveling at Megatron's feet when needed, Starscream appears to have his own agenda." He paused to let that sink in. He received nods in response, which indicated that they understood what he was saying. Will therefore continued, "The jackpot question therefore is: Why doesn't Megatron simply get rid of him?" It was a question, but he did not wait for a reply before continuing, "So I thought that we could eliminate Starscream. The 'cons would have one leader less and Megatron would be severely weakened."

The Autobots were silent for a moment, then Ratchet huffed and said, "From your point of perception, this sounds like a good tactic. But in reality, strategically, this would be an absolute mayhem."

"The worst there is," Ironhide agreed.

Will blinked, surprised. He had expected everything but that. "What? Why?" he asked, completely perplexed.

Optimus knelt down and offered him his hand, to be lifted up to a more eye-level height with the three Autobots. "We have considered eliminating Starscream in the past, but needed to dismiss such plans again – for several reasons. For one, as you pointed out, Starscream indeed has his own agenda and tries to see it to the end even with Megatron around."

Frowning in confusion, Will had to admit, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"What Optimus is saying," Ratchet pitched in, "is that Starscream's personal agenda is what keeps Megatron's attention from really focusing on what damage he could deal if he were truly into it."

Will stared at the CMO for a few moments with a blank expression, his thoughts racing. In just the moment that Ratchet opened his mouth to elaborate further, he realized, incredulous, "He has to supervise him."

"In a manner of speaking," Optimus offered. "With Starscream around, Megatron has to watch his back to not be disempowered."

"So… his attention is thus divided and not fully focused on fighting us," Will concluded.

"Exactly."

"Also, if Starscream were no more, Megatron's current third-in-command would take the position as first lieutenant," Ratchet brought forward.

Will pondered whether this wouldn't actually be a positive development for him and his team when he realized he didn't know the name of the 'con in question. "And who's the third-in-command?" he therefore inquired.

"Soundwave," Ironhide grumbled, his engine growling menacingly.

That sort of threw Will. "Huh? I thought he's their communications officer." At least, that's what Jolt had told him.

Ratchet nodded and shook his head at the same time. "He is, but he's also one of the best warriors the 'cons have. Jazz himself has fought him one on one on several occasions – and lost half the time."

His eyebrows shot skywards, and Will whistled. "Really?" He hadn't really had the chance to get to know Optimus's former first lieutenant but the Autobots had regaled him and his team more than once with stories of Jazz, both reverently in regard to the saboteur's intelligence and fighting style as well as with humor to his more… jolly side.

Optimus's voice rang with sadness when he next spoke, even though it was only one word. "Indeed." It proved more than words could ever do that he was still grieving the death of his long-time comrade and friend.

Hoping to pull Prime out of his sorrow, Will drew the Autobots' attentions back to Soundwave. "Hard to believe that he should be that good. I've never before seen him on a battlefield. To me that means he's more of a 'pulling the strings behind defense lines' kind of bot."

"Megatron indeed prefers using Soundwave for surveillance and communications," Ratchet confirmed. "And that alone makes him a formidable opponent. But he mustn't be underestimated on an actual battlefield, no matter what. Always be on the watch when there's an inkling that Soundwave's involved," he warned.

"You should issue that warning to your team too," Optimus suggested.

"Will do."

"Good." Optimus sent him a smile which Will returned. "Was that all or did you have any other epiphanies?"

Chuckling, Will shook his head. "Nope, that was it – unless there was a good reason why killing Starscream would be the better option than keeping him around."

"I am afraid there is none," Optimus replied, "and we had centuries to carefully consider the subject."

Will sighed. It had felt like such a good idea at first, but after this talk, he could see the Autobots' point that taking Starscream out of the equation would cause only bigger problems.

Optimus offered him his hand again and set him back down on the floor. Will said his thanks and goodbyes and turned to leave. He was already at the door when something occurred to him. Turning back to look at the three Autobots, he asked with warily narrowed optics, "What were the three of you doing anyway when I barged in?"

If he hadn't seen it just then, he would never have believed it – but Autobots apparently could obtain an expression that put 'deer caught in the headlights' to shame.

Now truly suspicious, Will crossed his arms in front of his chest. Optimus no longer would meet his eyes then and Ironhide even shuffled his feet in embarrassment.

Only Ratchet seemed unperturbed at having been caught red-handed. "If you need to know," he began, "we were having a discussion."

"About?"

"Nothing that would concern you," the medic shot back, never at a loss for words.

"I see…" Will said, deliberately leaving that sentence hanging ominously over their heads. He threw them another look before deciding to heed back to his office.

He had just sat down at his desk when he received a message. It was from Prime. '_We were discussing the probabilities of you being promoted at the next meeting with General Morshower and what we could do to advocate you._'

"What the…" he muttered to himself before typing a return message. '_And why would my promotion matter to you?_'

The response was immediate. '_You know us personally. We fought side by side. The higher ranked you are, the more influence you can use to support our case._' A moment later, a second message came in. '_Call it survival strategy._'

He couldn't help it; he laughed. Long and hard. Until tears ran down his cheeks. "Oh my God…" he eventually gasped after calming down a little. _Apparently, not only Starscream has a personal agenda_, he thought before returning to his pile of paperwork – that had grown again during his absence from the office.


End file.
